


the sun, moon, & stars

by straysncts



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3racha centric, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Um I think thats it, artist!changbin, barista!woochan, because i just Love to project, forgot to add this but, polyamorous, pov switches? but mainly changbin, towards the end i guess, yes thats all i know how to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straysncts/pseuds/straysncts
Summary: the sidewalk’s never been big enough for three people, but jisung doesn’t seem to care.





	the sun, moon, & stars

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo literally yesterday i had less than half of this written n ispent hours writing n it ended up being 11k worth of mainly angst but with fluff at the end??? um i hope its not terrible i didnt proofread much i just went back to develop certain parts of the story so if theres any mistakes ill probably fix them eventually!! imactually kinda happy with /most/ of it but anyways!! we love 3racha!! i love writing about them n Yeah this is what came out of me projecting n Rambling like crazy n also me loving 3racha with my whole entire heart.....anyways kudos n comments are always always greatly appreciated u___u
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> also i rated this mature?? idk if thats right but theres homophobia n shitty parents n home lives so it felt appropriate anyways if that makes anyone uncomfy dont read :( its not /that/ bad but still!! just wanted to let u guys know
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> [twitter](https://Twitter.com/woobinsungs)

changbin stares at his house.

well, he actually uses that word very _lightly_ , considering he doesn’t really know how a home functions, or how it’s supposed to be.

it’s not ugly — more like the opposite, actually. changbin’s always thought it was pretty, even with all of its sharp edges and the excessive neatness. (courtesy of his mother, who doesn’t let a single flaw go unnoticed).

(his included).

he stares at the precisely trimmed grass, the smooth sloping of the path to the door. he can picture his mother fretting about, muttering under her breath as nimble fingers yank out weeds and grass, any imperfections she can come across.

it’s more of a home _disguised_ as one.

there’s a little welcome mat, constantly dusted by his mother, a pretty fence almost kissing the borderline bright shade of grass — even carefully tended flowers dotting the path to the door. it’s all pretty, a sight worth seeing for someone walking by, who would probably think, _what a nice house to live in, with a lovely family taking care of it._

but that’s the thing about houses. they’re sort of like dolls, all dressed up to push the notion that a happy little family lives inside of its walls, that it’s familiar and filled with warmth and good memories, the kind that are brought back by the smell of cookies or by the creak of the stairs on birthdays.

changbin takes a deep breath, pulling himself out of his own thoughts, and opens the gate. he walks up the path briskly, fumbling for his key so he can bolt inside — maybe before his mother can say anything — but his bag is heavy and _fuck, where did all of these pens and empty wrappers come from?_ he bites his lip anxiously, until he sees the familiar silver gleam of a key, sighing in relief as he places it into the slot carefully.

he’s halfway up the stairs when he hears his mother calling him, and he’s thinking _maybe i should just lock myself in my room_ and _i already ate lunch so it’s okay_ when she calls him again, and he’s stumbling up the stairs, down the hall and into his room. he locks it with a brief click and it’s like he can breathe again.

changbin flinches a little when his mother’s palm slams flat against the wooden door, rattling it. it’s all _what did i tell you about locking your door_ and _be hungry, then_ and _i don’t care about you anyways_ but he really can’t find it in himself to let the impact of the words crush him.

he feels empty nowadays, kind of like the threats his mother hurls at him whenever he forgets to make his bed, or gets an A- as opposed to an A on a test, and it’s just heart wrenching, almost enough to make him a little sad, ironically. his mind starts digging out the memories of how his parents insisted he couldn’t be anything but happy, that sadness couldn’t possibly exist in their family. _we gave you a home,_ they’d repeat, over and over again, until he learned to wrestle his emotions, hide them behind a blank stare and mumbled _yes, i’m okay’s_ to anyone that bothered to ask.

his mother’s still going on about something, but her footsteps are fading and changbin knows his father’s probably mindlessly ignoring the brokenness of it all, so one look at his window is all it takes.

the air feels nice, lightly pressing into his skin and changbin thinks that it makes him feel a little more alive than usual.

he doesn’t even need to think about where to go, feet already moving down the street, the path to the small coffee place on the edge of town being the only familiar thing in his life.

he’s almost there when he wonders if he even has any money with him, and he’s fumbling with his bag to count loose change, trying to remember how much a regular coffee costs, because it looks like he barely has enough, which surely won’t cover sales tax and added fees. he scowls, thinking about how he should get a job soon, before stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie, and walking.

he’ll make do. he always does.

turns out a coffee is in fact more than what he has on him, and he doesn’t realize it until the cashier stares at him, (changbin doesn’t think he’s seen him before) hand outstretched to grab the crumpled bills changbin’s fished out of his pockets. “i, uh, don’t have enough, actually,” he mutters, ashamed, and is about to add that they can just cancel his order, when the worker’s face softens. “that’s alright. on the house it is,” he says softly, pushing away changbin’s hand lightly. a sour taste fills his mouth at the thought of someone taking pity on him, at the fact that he can’t scrounge up enough money for a regular coffee.

changbin twists his mouth up into an awkward smile, mumbling _thank you_ and _i’ll pay you back, promise_ as he walks over to the other end of the counter, waiting for his drink. he tries to focus on something other than the boy making his order, but it’s hard so he finds himself digging out his pocket change yet again, sliding it across the counter when the boy places his drink down.

“i’ll give you the rest some other time,” he says quietly, accepting his drink and the boy shakes his head adamantly. “keep it. you can pay me back by coming in again and keeping me company,” he responds lightly, gesturing at the empty shop. changbin scowls again, wondering why he couldn’t just accept the money instead of being so _nice_ about the whole ordeal.

he sighs, dipping his head in thanks, promising to come back, and makes his way to the corner, where he usually finds himself on long, tiring days. he sets his drink down, before taking a seat. he’s about to open his bag to grab his sketchbook when he sees neat writing on the side of his cup.

_coffee is better sweet. hope you don’t mind._

there’s even a little smiley face, and changbin wonders what he possibly could’ve done to catch that boy’s attention, for him to share some of his kindness to someone so undeserving of it.

he isn’t 100% sure that it’s better sweet, but it leaves a warm feeling throughout his chest.

needless to say, the cup finds a home on changbin’s desk, and he finds himself looking at the neat handwriting whenever he’s feeling emptier than usual. he can’t bring himself to just throw it away, especially since his room is barren of anything that could hold meaning. he’s gotten tired of staring at nothing.

changbin doesn’t return for a week or so, his mother not letting him _breathe_ whenever he gets home from school. she’s everywhere, with judging eyes and whispered _why do you push me away_ and _i’ve given you everything what more do you want_ as changbin stays silent, eyes focusing past her figure. her nails dig into his arm, but it doesn’t do anything.

he sneaks out eventually, when the house goes silent and all he can hear is his parents steady breathing coming from their room. he brings his sketchbook again, the habit having formed a long time ago, and pours change out of the coffee cup he keeps on his desk. (another habit formed).

the same boy is there in a mostly empty shop, and changbin doesn’t recognize the emotion flowing through him when he sees him behind the counter, presumably cleaning up.

he walks up to the counter, palm full of money, and orders a black coffee, extra strong. (nightmares have been chasing sleep away lately) the boy — whose name tag reads _chan_ , changbin notices — pinches his eyebrows together, opening his mouth like he wants to say something. nothing comes out, so changbin just walks over to the other end to wait for his drink.

he tries to remember exactly how much change he’d given him last time, and by the time he realizes, chan’s already slid his cup across the counter. he stares at the change changbin’s put down, and glares at him.

“take it back,” he insists, pushing it away from him. changbin bites his lip, annoyed. he doesn’t like owing people anything, and he _really_ doesn’t like being viewed as a charity case. changbin grabs his drink instead, maybe a little too harshly because chan flinches, and that’s when he remembers to loosen up a little. he forces his body to relax, and tries to smile.

he leaves the change on the counter.

changbin notices from his table that chan just stares at it stubbornly, like its done something wrong to him. changbin sighs, partly out of annoyance and partly of exhaustion, deciding to focus on something else instead.

changbin tugs his worn sketchbook out of his bag, aware of chan’s eyes on him in the meanwhile. he’s never really noticed just how old it is until now, with pages hanging out of it and the edges curling over from prolonged use. he tries to ignore the eyes trained on him in favor of doodling, to get his mind off of things, but it’s just not _flowing_. some days are good. he can sit in peace, draw whatever’s on his mind, and be content with it. some days, like tonight, everything turns out too messy or not realistic enough and it just leaves him frustrated.

sleep nips at him instead, closing his eyes and shaking his hands, making his drawings more sloppier than usual. (he gives up eventually).

(he also falls asleep, and is woken by a wide-eyed chan saying he has to close up soon).

changbin’s only a _little_ bit embarrassed by the whole situation, even though chan apologizes multiple times.

he comes home to silence, and stares at the empty coffee cup on his desk yet again before stumbling into bed, exhausted. that’s the only way he sleeps these days — waiting for his body to give out on him and simply just crash.

 

\----

 

he wakes up knowing its going to be a bad day. maybe it’s in the way he barely gets himself out of bed, or how the house is just a little too quiet. _maybe i should skip breakfast and just leave,_ he thinks. he can’t stop looking at his window.

his feet make a soft _thud_ on the ground a few minutes later, and he cuts through the lawn, trying to get out of sight as soon as possible. his hands are shaking, and he can’t tell if its from the cold air or if it’s a sign of how his day’s going to end up.

changbin thinks its best to ignore it. he shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching them tightly so he doesn’t have to feel the way they shake. his mother always hated seeing them shake whenever he got too emotional. _there aren’t many things she likes,_ he supposes.

dread settles in soon enough, makes a home in his chest when he sees a crisply folded piece of paper on his desk. he drops his textbooks on top of it, and refuses to look around. he can hear someone laughing. when they don’t stop, he angrily shoves his stuff to the side, grabbing the stupid, glaringly white piece of paper, and crumpling it. the laughter stops, and he gets up from his seat to throw it away, quietly apologizing to his teacher, whose eyes linger on the trash can.

he glares at the kids behind him, only to stiffen when he slides into his seat and one of them whispers, _“faggot,”_ right into his ear.

his teachers eyes linger on him one second too long, and he knows this day can only get worse from here, but changbin takes a deep breath instead of reacting, and ignores the whispers behind him, like he always does.

the dread has long since settled into his body when he unlocks his front door, only to find his mother pacing the living room, his father sitting mindlessly on the couch. changbin starts fidgeting immediately, knowing he can’t get out of whatever is about to happen, not even if he runs to his room.

his mother makes him squirm in silence for a couple of minutes, before opening her mouth. just the gesture alone is enough to make him flinch. (so much for not feeling anything).

“your counselor called. asked if we knew anything about your classmates teasing you for being gay,” his mother begins, and her voice is so calm that it absolutely terrifies him. _the note,_ changbin thinks. he grips the straps to his backpack tightly, hard enough to chafe his fingers. he might bleed if he doesn’t let go soon.

“imagine my surprise,” she says quietly, and changbin swallows, willing away any panic forming. “having to find out from a counselor about how messed up you _really_ are,” she continues. changbin feels his backpack straps break skin. he holds them tighter. she’s closer to him now, and his father’s avoiding his eyes but the shame and disappointment is evident, written in the lines creasing on his forehead and the way his lips tilt downwards, in the way he sits in his chair, in his utter silence. it’s painful.

“it’s not enough for you to be ungrateful and a brat, is it? you wanna be a disgrace too?” she snaps, and changbin thinks she might as well have slapped him. “ _disgusting._ my own son,” she mutters. changbin wants to make a run for it.

he doesn’t move fast enough because she grabs him by the arms to prevent him from leaving and her nails are so _sharp_ and he’s just so tired of the yelling, the shame he feels, of everything, that he doesn’t even bother to fight.

she yells until her voice is hoarse, until changbin is numb from it all. he excuses himself to his room when she finally backs away, fresh out of cruel words for the day. his father still hasn’t looked at him, and changbin almost wishes he would.

 _coward,_ he thinks bitterly. 

silence is a telltale sign of cowardice. that, changbin knows for sure.

changbin closes the door to his room, and falls apart silently. he falls apart as his mother smooths out any wrinkles in her clothes and prepares dinner for his father, humming as if nothing happened, as if she hadn’t rejected him in every aspect possible.

he’s never been the person she wanted him to be. he wishes he was.

_“how could you do this to me? to your father? after everything we’ve done for you?”_

_“how could you tell people? you deserve what they’re saying to you at school. all of it.”_

maybe he does deserve it. he’s far from perfect, far from a good person. maybe she’s right about him.

his feet hit the ground harder than usual, pain spiking up his leg. he limps across the lawn, ignoring the tears making their way down his face and the ache in his hands. he tries to remember the last time he cried as he makes his way down the street, towards his usual hiding spot.

he wonders if they’d let him stay past closing, that way he can avoid going home until morning.

it’s not until changbin walks through the door that he realizes he didn’t even bring any money, so he just seats himself all the way in the back, sniffling pathetically. one of the workers is staring at him apprehensively, and changbin misses the way chan shakes his head at them. too busy drowning in his sorrows.

he’s always known his family wouldn’t accept him, but he wasn’t counting on his teacher talking to his counselor about everything, who probably ended up calling his parents simply out of spite, knowing they had no idea, knowing there aren’t many supportive people around where he lives.

the thought alone hurts, hurts more than all the times his parents have gotten mad at him, hurts more than his mother’s nails digging into his skin and her cold, harsh words. it's one thing when his classmates batter him down. they are not his blood, and all they share is their age. it's another when his very own flesh and blood, the people who raised him, refuse to accept him.

changbin’s finding it harder to breathe now.

he doesn’t even realize chan’s making his way over to where he is, not until he sits down next to him. changbin flinches, leaning away, and chan holds his hands up, mumbling, “i’m not here to hurt you or anything like that,” but he gives him space anyways. one of the workers presses a mug into chan’s hands, who offers it to changbin. he’s smiling.

changbin takes it.

“careful, it’s pretty ho—“ chan begins, but changbin’s already spluttering, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth in an effort to make it less painful. “hot.” chan finishes, and changbin scowls, glaring at the cup of hot chocolate in his hands. he sets it down on the table in front of him, his stomach already slightly nauseated. “haven’t eaten,” he mutters as an explanation, and chan nods in understanding. “all day,” he adds, and his eyes flutter shut out of exhaustion. chan doesn’t say anything, probably because he’s gone when changbin opens his eyes. he can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved.

changbin closes his eyes again, sleep taking over his body little by little. he’s already blurred the line between consciousness and dreaming when chan appears again, stirring him from his almost sleep. he’s holding a container of food, and changbin’s about to refuse but his stomach chooses that moment to growl, betraying him. chan offers it to him, still smiling, and changbin realizes he has no choice but to take it.

“is this yours?” he asks quietly, and feels a flare of annoyance when chan nods in response. “don’t worry. i had a big lunch,” chan insists, laughing a little. changbin’s lip twitches at the sound, and he almost smiles back at him.

he opens the container slowly and has to hold back a sob, because it smells exactly like his mother’s cooking, and he’s still so unnerved by everything that happened, his mind a mess of emotions. “are you okay?” chan looks a little panicked. “is my cooking that bad?” he jokes uneasily when he doesn’t get a response, and changbin shakes his head. he doesn’t explain, just eats quietly in hopes of chan leaving. the tears dry on his cheeks.

chan never asks if he’s okay, or about what happened, and it makes changbin feel a little more at ease. he leaves once his break is over, but he still smiles at changbin each time they happen to make eye contact.

changbin wants to hate it, but the sight keeps him together.

he stays until closing, lingering for as long as possible. chan looks at him from time to time, almost as if he wants to ask about his stalling, but he keeps quiet.

changbin leaves the same time as chan, who apologizes for having to close so soon before waving and saying goodbye. changbin’s mouth curls into a small smile.

he ends up falling asleep on a park bench, one not too far from the coffee shop. it’s cold and he can’t stop shivering, can see the way his breath comes out in small puffs, but the thought of going back home is unbearable.

he wakes up to a cloud of puffy hair and concerned, wide eyes hovering over him.

changbin grumbles out an almost incoherent, “staring is _rude,_ ” before pushing himself up to a sitting position. he blinks a couple of times, dazed, and is surprised to recognize chan.

“oh. it’s you.”

chan has that sympathetic look in his eyes, the kind changbin’s never really gotten — not from his parents or classmates — and he can’t tell if the feeling bubbling up inside of him is contempt or _validation_ at being recognized.

changbin hopes it’s contempt.

“what are you even doing here?” changbin mumbles, staring pointedly at the boy looking down at him. he’s about to answer his own question with a sarcastic comment when chan _tsk tsk’s_ , saying that he could ask _him_ the same thing.

changbin raises an eyebrow, and chan grins at him. “this is actually on the way to the coffee shop. you know, where i work,” he explains, and changbin musters a sheepish smile.

“right,” he mutters, before standing up. “i should, uh, get going.” chan hums in agreement, but doesn’t move. changbin scowls, straightening out his rumpled clothes, and walks.

chan follows.

they attract quite a few stares, with changbin glaring at seemingly nothing, and chan smiling politely at anyone walking past.

the coffee shop is on the way to changbin’s house, and chan seems a little disappointed, shoulders slumping.

“don’t let me find you asleep on a bench again. go home, please.”

changbin feels like his lungs are shrinking, making it harder to take in air. he just nods dumbly, already continuing his walk down the street.

part of him feels chan’s eyes boring into him, but he chooses to ignore it.

his house looks empty as he walks up to the door, but he’s learned not to be fooled by outside appearances.

changbin refuses to risk anything, and he’s glad to see that his window was left untouched.

he whacks his nose on the rain gutter and almost loses his grip, catching himself at the last second. he tips over clumsily into his bedroom, wincing at the loud thud he makes.

“changbin? what was that?” his mother calls out, voice steely. “i _fell,_ ” he grits out, hoping it was loud enough for her to hear. he makes his way to the bathroom, searching for concealer once he sees the inevitable redness on his nose. _it’ll probably bruise,_ he thinks. it’ll be a pain to hide.

he rushes down the stairs a good ten minutes later, hair unkempt and uniform wrinkled. he hears his mother walking around in the kitchen, and decides it wouldn’t hurt to skip breakfast again.

he doesn’t call out a goodbye, using the door slamming shut as a way to let her know he’s leaving.

it’s still cold outside, and changbin is distracted by the white clouds coming out of his mouth yet again.

he feels on edge once he walks into class, even more so when he notices that his classmates attention is directed elsewhere.

his eyes slide over to a boy hunched over in his seat, a couple of kids surrounding him. (the same ones who never leave changbin alone) a scowl forms on his face, and he takes it upon himself to slide into the empty seat right next to the boy, snapping, “leave him alone,” before turning his back to them.

the boy, who he recognizes as jisung now, visibly relaxes, shoulders slumping and hands loosening their grip on the edge of his seat. they haven’t spoken much, but jisung smiles at him in the halls occasionally, even asks how he’s doing if he has the time. changbin likes him, always has.

changbin feels something akin to pity stir somewhere in his chest. he doesn’t say anything else for the rest of class, just straightens his back in hopes of no one bothering them.

jisung attaches to his side as soon as they step outside, hands clinging onto changbin’s arm. “that was so cool, hyung!” he whisper-yells excitedly, eyes wide as he looks at him.

“i just told them to leave,” he mutters, but jisung’s excitement is contagious and he launches into an over exaggerated re-telling of the whole scenario.

“why were they bugging you in the first place?” changbin blurts out, right in the middle of jisung’s spiel. jisung stops in his tracks briefly, looking at him sadly. “the same reason they bug you,” he admits, shrugging before continuing to walk.

“i didn’t want to tell anyone. i just,” jisung hesitates, eyes flitting back over to changbin. “you don’t have to talk about it.” jisung sighs out of relief, smiling over at changbin. they make small talk for a little instead, right up until jisung's thanking him before mumbling a goodbye and rushing down the hall.

 

\----

 

changbin runs into him next inside the coffee shop. he’s seated in one of the chairs by the counter, chattering brightly with not only chan, but his co-worker (woojin?) as well.

changbin shuffles to the counter, fist full of money. chan’s head pokes up from a machine, and he makes his way to the counter, smiling brightly. “you’re back!”

he wishes chan didn’t sound so excited.

he tries for a smile, the gesture feeling slightly awkward, but it must work. he orders, and it’s during this whole process that _jisung_ finally notices his presence.

“hyung!” he calls out excitedly, and changbin can’t stop the smile from naturally appearing on his face. jisung pats the seat next to him, and changbin reaches out to squeeze jisung’s shoulder before sitting down.

“how’s your week been?” the question slips from changbin’s mouth casually, like he might ask any other classmate, but he really just wants to know if anyone else has been bothering jisung. jisung’s expressions droops a little as he pauses to think, before a smile nudges its way back.

“good, hyung!” his smile is brighter than ever, and changbin is almost positive he’s lying to him. he opens his mouth to respond, but chan leans across the countertop, eyes warm.

changbin tries not to focus on the way his dark hair curls over his forehead, or the way his lips tilt upwards, even though he isn’t smiling, or how pretty he looks today.

“oh! changbin hyung is the one who scared them away,” jisung blurts out excitedly, gesturing over to where changbin’s sitting. “really?” chan murmurs, looking right at him.

“they haven’t been bothering you, have they?” he asks cautiously, and woojin pops out from somewhere behind the counter, uttering a somewhat dramatic, “whose bothering our sungie?” and jisung giggles, responding with a warm, “no one, hyung!” woojin grins, affectionately ruffling jisung’s hair before going back to whatever he was doing earlier.

chan looks at him again, smiling. changbin lets a small smile slip past his lips, before redirecting his attention elsewhere.

 

\----

 

changbin sees jisung next after school on his way home.

he doesn’t notice him right away, just the cluster of students surrounding him by the lockers, and that’s how he _knows._

“don’t you guys have better things to do?” he snaps, and they go quiet, turning to face him with various levels of annoyance in their expressions. changbin ignores the “why do you stand up for him but not yourself?” that comes out of one of his classmates mouth, slinging an arm around jisung’s shoulder and guiding him away.

it’s all so easy when he pretends like he isn’t just as afraid as the boy pressed into his side, when he builds a facade to keep everyone out. he's learned to hide the way his hands shake and even out his breaths, but jisung is young and not used to this and hiding it is harder for him.

“i thought everything was okay?” changbin’s voice is soft, but jisung still looks ashamed. “it’s not,” he pauses, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts together. “it’s not that bad.”

changbin doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t press either, withdrawing his arm. he pretends as if he doesn’t miss the feeling of having jisung near him.

“do you need to be anywhere? i’ll buy you hot chocolate to make up for what just happened,” changbin suggests, and jisung latches on his arm with an endearing, “really, hyung?”

changbin likes the way his eyes shine.

woojin’s nowhere to be seen when they enter the shop, but changbin recognizes the mop of curly hair from behind the counter. he turns at the sound of the door closing, smiling warmly at the both of them.

“back so soo—“

“do you ever _not_ work?” changbin blurts out stupidly, and jisung stifles a giggle. chan cocks his head to the side, obviously unsure of how to answer. “i mean, yeah? but also no?” he says carefully, and changbin jerks his head into a nod, pretending like his cheeks aren’t on fire.

he thinks it’s best to move on.

“anyways, uh, a hot chocolate for the brat over there,” changbin mutters, eliciting a protest out of jisung, who’s seated by the counter. changbin grins over at him, missing the way chan’s eyes quickly dart between the two of them. he sits down right next to jisung after counting out enough change to pay, who leans his head on his shoulder, nose scrunching up as he smiles.

chan slides jisung’s drink across the counter, before making small talk. changbin pulls out his sketchbook, using it to give himself something to do. he only looks up when he realizes chan and jisung have gone silent, and finds them staring at his work. the tip of his ears turn red, and he shyly tries to cover up the sketch by leaning forward.

“you’re really talented,” chan comments, leaning back to resume working. jisung nods in agreement enthusiastically, hands carefully reaching out. “can i?” changbin wordlessly hands the sketchbook over to jisung, before putting his face against the cool countertop, hiding.

“hyung.”

“changbin hyung.”

“binnie hyung.”

“ _changbin_.”

changbin lifts his head at the absence of the honorific to glare at jisung, who adds a sheepish, “hyung,” to the end of his sentence. he’s somehow still smiling, not even fazed by changbin’s expression.

“you’re cute when you’re shy,” he sing-songs, already changing the subject. he leans in closer to return his sketchbook, and changbin snorts at the compliment, gladly accepting his drawings back. “your drawings are really good,” jisung adds, and chan finishes up what he’s doing, moving closer to sneak a peek again.

“you already saw some,” changbin protests, but chain’s giving him those _stupid_ puppy eyes, lips drawn into a pout. he wishes he didn't find it cute, or endearing.

he caves, but not without a fight. he hands over his drawings, muttering about how sad it is that chan _still_ pouts despite his age, which earns him an offended, “i’m not _that_ old!” from the older boy.

chan agrees with jisung regardless, and changbin doesn’t know how to respond, just barely managing to stutter out a _thank you_. it’s like he loses all functioning surrounding speech around chan. he can’t stand it.

woojin joins them a little bit later when his shift starts, reaching over to pinch jisung’s cheeks affectionately. jisung swats his hands away, but he’s giggling, obviously more than happy with the attention. changbin’s heart lurches at the sight of jisung smiling. it’s kind of like clouds melting away to reveal the sun and its warmth after a cold day.

changbin really didn’t plan to stay long, but jisung pulls out his homework a couple of minutes later, and it’s obvious he’s craving a distraction, so changbin decides to stay with him. granted, he’s more of a distraction than much help, but jisung doesn’t seem to mind. neither does changbin.

it’s quiet today, with no people bustling about or businessmen in crisp suits talking obnoxiously on the phone. changbin thinks he prefers it this way.

woojin starts humming a song under his breath when the shop is particularly empty, one changbin can’t name, but chan’s eyes light up in recognition, and he joins in.

they end up having this stupid duet, both of them trying to out-sing the other, and it only ends when their faces go red from exertion. jisung practically loses it, face scrunched into a laugh, and homework long forgotten. changbin can’t help but crack a smile at the sight. there’s something beautiful about seeing jisung so happy.

he can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this much around other people.

 

\----

 

changbin likes to think he has found solace in befriending jisung, in his easy smile and intermittent bursts of affection, in the way he focuses the entirety of his attention on changbin whenever he speaks, a luxury he is not used to.

he likes being around him, more than he can admit.

he has not found solace in chan. maybe it’s because he’s seen him at his worst, something no one’s ever had the privilege of seeing. he usually keeps it confined within the four walls of his room, away from prying eyes.

something about chan makes changbin uneasy, almost as if he can _see_ right through him, through the scowls and glares practically permanently settled onto his face.

it throws changbin off balance, the way he picks him apart so carefully and _easily_ after such a short amount of time, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up before school, ordering coffee and a treat for jisung through a series of stuttered words, leaving with tinted cheeks.

 

\----

 

changbin starts seeing jisung around school more often, his head bobbing up in the crowd and eyes always finding his in the middle of class, a smile on his lips each time.

the guy who sits behind changbin whispers a mocking, “got a crush?” when he stares for a second _too_ long. changbin’s startled by the suggestion, pencil scratching a jagged line across his paper. he scowls, looking down so he won’t have to make eye contact with jisung. he focuses on erasing the mistake instead, but the evidence of it doesn’t go away, no matter how much he wears down his eraser.

jisung waits for him after class, books clutched to his chest. he walks with him down the hall, towards the stairs where they sometimes eat lunch when they both have the time. changbin leans across the steps, back pressed against the wall, and jisung sits a step below him in the same position.

he offers him a bag of chips, and changbin gladly accepts. he skipped breakfast to avoid his parents again.

“you need to stop skipping breakfast,” jisung scolds, and changbin sighs in response.

“i know.”

changbin can feel jisung staring at him apprehensively out of the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t want to do this today.

“how’s your day been?” changbin asks, changing the subject. he’s gotten good at doing that. _years of practice,_ he supposes.

“stop deflecting,” jisung protests, gently nudging his shoulder.

“you’re deflecting, too.”

jisung sighs, and offers him some more chips. a silent truce.

changbin accepts, and they both pretend as if everything is okay.

 

\----

 

changbin doesn’t expect to find a crying jisung at the coffee shop a few days later, a worried chan sitting next to him.

he’d left the house hoping for a distraction from the fight his mother started earlier, and found jisung instead.

he slides into a chair quietly, eyes meeting chan’s. chan shrugs a little, eyes confused, and changbin wishes he knew what to do.

“ _sungie_ ,” changbin says softly, waiting for a reaction. jisung sniffs a little, but keeps his head pressed against the countertop.

“i’ll be back,” chan murmurs, slipping carefully off of the chair. he goes through a door behind the counter, and panic seeps into changbin.

he’s not good at this. he’s really not, but he wishes he was because this is _jisung_ , the same jisung who finds everything equally funny and loves music with a passion and cries over minuscule things, like when he gets extra whipped cream in his hot chocolate or any sort of compliment from someone, or when changbin shows up outside of his first class, a bag filled with sweets in his hands.

changbin reaches out with his hand, tugging jisung’s out from under his head. he places his hand over jisung’s, who’s sitting up now, cheeks puffy and eyes downcast.

chan comes back before changbin can string together his comfort into words, telling them he got someone to cover his shift.

changbin understands immediately, hands wrapping around jisung’s to pull him up. he’s not crying anymore, but he looks absolutely dejected, shoulders sagging.

“it’s not that far,” chan reassures, tucking jisung under his arm. he motions for changbin to follow, but he trails behind awkwardly, only speeding up when he hears jisung asking where he is.

the sidewalk’s never been big enough for three people, but jisung doesn’t seem to care.

chan’s apartment is scarily neat, not a single pillow or paper out of place, and changbin briefly wonders if he even spends any time here. jisung sits on the couch, frowning as chan bustles about, putting his work stuff away. jisung pats the seat next to him, curling up the second changbin fits himself there.

“talk to me,” changbin whispers, waiting for jisung’s response.

he looks up to see chan hovering in the doorway, hesitating. changbin shakes his head, motioning for him to wait, and the boy disappears into the kitchen.

“my parents found out?” it comes out sounding like a question, almost as if jisung still can’t believe it.

changbin doesn’t say anything, knows he doesn’t need to as jisung cries into his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt, grasping for something tangible to keep him grounded.

they stay like that for a while, until jisung’s eyes go dry, and he pulls away to ask, “how do you do it?”

changbin wishes he knew what to say.

“god, the way they _look_ at me just makes me feel shitty,” jisung admits when he doesn’t get a response, gripping his hands together tightly. changbin pries them apart, knowing from prior experience that they’d probably end up bleeding.

jisung sighs, falling quiet. changbin wishes he was better at this.

chan joins them a couple of minutes later, squeezing in next to jisung. he does a much better job than changbin does, offering comfort and words of reassurance. he even makes jisung laugh once or twice, which eases the worry built up in changbin’s throat.

“you’re okay. everything’s gonna be okay. i promise.”

jisung cries again, telling the both of them that he doesn’t know what he’d do without them here, by his side.

changbin feels the same way, but he’s too much of a coward to admit it. like he's said before, silence is a telltale sign of cowardice.

 

\----

 

jisung feels empty.

he walks home with dread in his every step, clinging tightly onto his backpack straps to ground him. he’d said goodbye to both chan and changbin earlier, not wanting to bother them any more than he already had, and also because of the embarrassment he felt from the small breakdown.

the house is silent when he walks in, but he calls out a greeting anyways in hopes of a response. his mother stares at him from the kitchen, and he leans in to kiss her cheek, like he always did as a child. she goes back to making dinner instead, her silence deafening to his ears, and jisung wishes he could breathe.

he stands there like a lost puppy for a couple of minutes, trying to keep himself together, before finally giving up.

he falls apart in his room yet again, vision blurry from tears and chest aching with a need to be loved and validated in a way he’s never been.

he hates himself for it, but the ache doesn’t go away.

 

\----

 

chan comes out to both of his parents at 16, who are both equally shocked from their seats on the couch across from him. he tries to smile at them, wiping his hands nervously on the fabric of his jeans. he’s ready, a whole entire argument and reasoning built up after years of struggling with his sexuality.

he thinks he might be okay, but then the shock wears off and disappointment etches their features. he’s so confused at the barrage of phrases and insults, retreating deep within himself in an attempt to avoid it all.

chan moves out a couple of years later with the money he has saved from working at the coffee shop, and rents out a shitty apartment he deems far enough from his house. granted, the doorknob gets stuck sometimes and the ceiling creaks whenever someone walks across the floor upstairs and he has to step around a broken tile whenever he steps foot into the kitchen but it’s _safe_ and it’s _home_ to him, something he hasn’t felt in years.

that doesn’t keep the ache in his chest from disappearing, and chan thinks he has a family-shaped hole in his heart, one that can’t be filled no matter how hard he tries to sew it up.

woojin moves in with him when he sees how many hours chan takes at the coffee shop, the bags underneath his eyes permanent and body constantly tired from the work.

woojin’s always been concerned with his lack of self-care, with the way he pushes himself to his limits.

“you should’ve started looking for a roommate as soon as you moved in, idiot,” woojin scolds as he carries pitiful looking boxes through the shitty door, but chan doesn’t have the energy to argue, already gesturing down the hall towards woojin’s soon to-be room.

woojin learns about the door when he comes home after a shift one day and it refuses to budge, despite him already unlocking it.

chan opens the door after he hears a couple of angry knocks and curse words, and woojin mutters, “god. i fucking hate this place,” the second he sees him. chan cracks a smile, and shows him where to push the door just _right_ to get it to un-budge.

“how do you deal with this?” woojin asks a couple of days later, gesturing up to the ceiling. their neighbors have taken a liking to stomping around their apartment upstairs, even more so than usual, much to woojin’s dismay. he’s standing in the doorframe leading to chain’s room, who searches for the headphones he left lying on his desk.

he holds them up, and woojin sighs, nodding.

“i still hate this place.”

chan grins.

a couple of more days pass, and woojin buys one of those stupid picture frames with the stock photo of a happy, perfect family inside of it, and hangs it up over the crack in the living room wall. chan starts to wonder if woojin has a family-shaped hole in his heart too.

“better.” he sounds pleased with himself.

chan thinks it’s like using a small bandaid to cover up a gushing wound, but he doesn’t say anything, just puts his headphones back in and retreats to his room.

woojin wakes up in the middle of the night for some water that same day, and accidentally steps on the sharp edge of the broken tile, the one chain’s learned to avoid. granted, chan _had_ told woojin about it, which means he can't feel guilty about it, but he probably forgot in his state of drowsiness.

so, chan stirs from his pitiful sleep, grabbing a small pack of bandaids from the bathroom, as well as disinfectant. he’d bought them after the same incident occurred to him.

chan’s cleaning up woojin’s wound when he mutters, “still fucking hate this place.”

“you’ll learn to like it. especially if your previous situation wasn’t any better,” chan supplies, trying his very hardest to not sound annoyed as he wraps a bandaid around his foot. chan knows woojin’s previous apartment was much nicer, but he hopes woojin gets the message.

he does, and maybe that’s why he comes home to bright, yellow curtains curled around the few small windows they have, along with plants lined up against the ledge. there’s a mismatching tile in the kitchen, shiny and brand new compared to the others. woojin smiles at him from the couch when he walks out, and chan returns it.

“welcome home,” woojin murmurs, and chan’s heart flip flops.

it’s not perfect, far from it, but he just wanted to get out of his parents’ house at the time. his mind really wasn’t considering bills or hours or roommates or even exhaustion, just the fact that he wouldn’t have to hear from his family if he got out. he wanted to be happy. he found that in his shitty apartment, in woojin, and now, in changbin and jisung — even if they haven’t quite realized it yet and he hasn’t admitted it.

chan is selfish. he left for his own reasons, his own desires and foolish hopes, and he hates himself for it. no amount of decorations or happy families smiling in picture frames will change that, nor will anything remedy the family-shaped hole in his heart.

 

\----

 

changbin can’t get to his room in time. he freezes halfway up the stairs at the sound of his mother’s voice, swearing silently as he turns around slowly, making his way back down.

“you’re never home.” her tone is clipped and icy, and changbin shivers from the foot of the stairs, avoiding her stare.

he holds in his next breath, waiting for her to continue speaking. (he’s learned that from past experience).

“you better watch yourself. wouldn’t want me to send you away, would you?”

changbin grits his teeth, and forces a nod even though he knows exactly what she’s implying. his mother seems pleased, and changbin isn’t anything if he wasn’t born to please, molded by years spent with her.

he wishes he could take those years back, reshape himself and get rid of his mother’s influence, but he is his mother’s son, and always will be, no matter how much he wants to believe otherwise.

 

\----

 

jisung thinks he’s shed his body, been stripped down to nothing more than a ghost. he feels like he floats down the hallway at school, where no one pays him any attention. his mother can’t look him in the eye, not anymore, and neither can the people he used to call his friends.

he drifts through his days silently, ignoring taunts and snickers, or at least pretends to.

changbin sticks by his side as much as he can, but jisung hates it, hates the fact that he craves having him around so much, that he can’t muster up the will to stand up for himself.

“ _hyung_ ,” he pleads when they’re walking together after school, towards the coffee shop to see chan. changbin hums in response, waiting for him to continue.

“you don’t have to keep sticking around me because of them,” jisung mutters, fiddling with his fingers as he walks. changbin stops, staring at him with a confused expression on his face.

“you think that’s the only reason i stick around?”

changbin sounds hurt at the suggestion, and jisung’s stomach twists with uneasiness.

“no! _no_ , of cou—“

“i _like_ being around you, sung,” changbin interrupts, and jisung feels terrible for even bringing it up, for indulging his insecurities. “i thought we were friends? good friends,” he adds, and it’s all going so terribly wrong but jisung is stuttering, unable to properly explain and changbin looks like a kicked puppy, and the sight makes tears well in his eyes.

changbin stops talking, waiting.

“i didn’t mean it like that, hyung,” jisung mumbles dejectedly, and changbin nods, but his uneasiness doesn’t go away.

they continue walking, but in silence this time, and jisung thinks he’s ruined one of the few good things he has left.

neither of them talk about it, not until chan senses the weirdness between them and asks what’s up. jisung shrugs, ashamed, and changbin insists that it’s nothing.

chan glares at both of them, and jisung winces, already recounting the conversation they had earlier. changbin is silent the entire time, not meeting chan’s eyes or jisung’s.

one of the other worker’s calls chan’s name in the middle of everything, and he disappears to see what they need, so jisung takes the opportunity to apologize.

“i’m sorry,” he blurts out, turning to face changbin.

“i’m _really_ sorry. i didn’t mean to suggest that we aren’t friends or anything like that. you’re one of the only good things i have left,” jisung confesses, and changbin reaches out to squeeze jisung’s hand comfortingly. “it’s _okay_ , i swear. i just got scared. i don’t consider many people my friend,” changbin admits quietly.

chan raises an eyebrow when he sees the two of them talking, but he smiles anyways.

later, when changbin leaves and chan’s closing up, he tells jisung he’s glad they fixed everything, even if it wasn’t too big of an issue.

jisung waits for chan to lock the door, then goes in for a hug, resting his head on chan’s shoulder.

“i don’t know where i’d be without you or changbin hyung,” he confesses once again, and he can feel chan smiling into the hug.

jisung pulls away to steal a kiss, one right on chan’s cheek.

he feels braver in the dark, like it envelops and shields him from anything harmful.

 

\----

 

changbin doesn’t recognize the feeling swirling inside of him whenever he sees jisung. he certainly doesn’t recognize the feeling he gets around chan, either but he chooses to ignore that one for now. _one issue at a time_ , he thinks.

he asks chan about jisung a couple of days later, when the shop is strangely empty.

“i don’t know how to explain it,” changbin admits, and chan grins at him from one of the espresso machines. “binnie has a crush!” he sing-songs, placing his hands on his own cheeks and leaning forward. changbin blushes, leaning away.

“i do _not_ ,” he responds hotly, trying to pretend as if his cheeks aren’t pink. “even your ears are turning pink! that’s so cute,” chan teases, grinning.

that feeling bubbles up in his chest again, and changbin pushes it down in favor of pretending it’s not there. he’s supposed to feel that way around jisung.

“you should tell him,” chan offers when he’s on his break later that same day, and they’re sitting outside on the curb, sharing a muffin. changbin sighs, tipping his head back to admire the streaks of pink in the sky.

“i’m not really a talk-about-my-feelings kinda person. you know that.”

“you should try — for him. he’s head over heels.”

changbin looks back down from the sky, eyes meeting chan’s.

“that’s not true. we’re just friends.”

chan snorts, and hands him the rest of the muffin. he dusts off his work clothes, before standing up. he pauses to rest a hand on changbin’s shoulder, who looks up to meet his eyes.

“i just want you to be happy,” he says quietly, and changbin tries to smile through the tears forming in his eyes. “jisung too,” he adds, and changbin thinks he sees a flash of sadness paint his features.

he’s left alone on the sidewalk, wondering what could possibly make chan so sad, waiting for the stars to appear, one by one, as the sky gets darker and darker.

 

\----

 

jisung is scared.

it’s one thing to come to terms with his sexuality, and it’s another to get a stupidly warm feeling in his chest whenever changbin smiles a little too brightly, nose scrunched and eyes crinkling.

changbin’s his _friend_ , nothing more.

he tells himself that whenever their fingertips brush and changbin smiles all pretty at him, his dark eyes warm. he tells himself that each time they sit on the steps during lunch, jisung's head in changbin's lap whenever he's feeling a little brave.

it’s what he tells chan, who thinks he’s absolutely ridiculous.

“just tell him,” chan insists, exasperatedly placing his hands on his hips from behind the counter. woojin walks over, nodding his head in agreement.

“i think you should listen to chan,” he remarks, and chan gives him a knowing look.

jisung buries his face in his hands, sighing dramatically.

“neither of you are any help,” he grumbles, trying to sound less disappointed.

“that’s not any way to talk to your hyungs!” woojin says bemusedly, a small smile on his face.

jisung huffs, mumbling something about them making fun of his predicament, and goes back to his existential crisis.

 

\----

 

changbin can’t stop thinking about what chan told him, about jisung liking him back. he thinks about it in class when jisung waves to him as he enters, when he’s at home, safe in his room.

it’s an exciting possibility, one that leaves him breathless and hopeful that the universe _finally_ dealt him a hand of good luck.

chan keeps telling him to go for it, that he’s an idiot for waiting so long, and changbin finally blurts out, “i’ll tell him if it shuts you up,” before he can even think about the weight of his words.

chan grins stupidly, and changbin wishes he’d learn to think before he opens his mouth.

he tosses and turns in his bed later that night, wondering how on earth he could possibly admit his feelings for jisung. he runs through endless scenarios, endless conversations and rejections.

he wakes up exhausted, running on way-too-little sleep, and maybe that’s why he asks jisung, “can we talk?” when he runs into him in the hallway. jisung laughs a little, muttering about how he was going to ask him the same thing.

“uh, lunch? if you have the time?” changbin questions, and jisung nods, smiling briefly at him.

changbin thinks his heart’s going to explode by the time lunch rolls around and he sees jisung on the stairs, a bag of chips in his hands.

“you first?” changbin asks awkwardly as he takes a seat next to him, waiting for an answer. “or you first?” jisung suggests, and changbin can tell by the way he fidgets that he’s nervous about something as well. he wants to reach over, take his hand, but decides it’d be better not to.

“i just wa—“

“the thing i—“

they both look at each other, and burst into giggles.

“i’ll go first,” changbin offers, and jisung nods, visibly relaxing.

“i had this whole speech planned, you know? but now that i’m talking to you, i can’t remember a single thing. i lose myself when i’m around you, and that’s dangerous,” he says slowly, pausing to gather his thoughts.

“but that’s okay. i don’t mind, because i like you, more than words can explain,” changbin breathes out, a sense of relief replacing his nervousness. “and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. it really is. i just thought you should know,” he finishes, finally looking up to meet jisung’s gaze.

“oh my god.”

changbin’s relief is replaced by dread, and he begins to regret ever saying anything. _i’m gonna kill chan_ , he thinks.

“you know how i wanted to tell you something?”

changbin forces himself to nod, but can’t bear to look over at jisung. warm hands envelop his, and he barely registers the soft, “i was actually gonna say the same thing,” that falls from jisung’s lips.

changbin laughs out of relief, twisting his hand so that it’s entwined with jisung’s, who presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

they let go after a couple of minutes, just in case anyone walks past, but jisung’s cheeks are flushed simply from holding his hand and changbin wants nothing more than to kiss him, but holds himself back.

jisung smiles at him, offering him the bag of chips, and changbin thinks he’s seeing stars.

 

\----

 

chan enters the apartment after closing up, and seats himself on the couch, staring grumpily at the picture frame with the perfect family in it.

woojin shuffles into the living room quietly, following his gaze.

“you’ve never liked that frame,” he comments, joining him on the couch. chan shrugs, leaning back tiredly. he’s never said anything because of the look of nostalgia woojin gets whenever he sees it on the wall, and he knows there must be something more to it.

he doesn’t press. he never has.

“you should just tell them,” woojin supplies, and chan can tell he’s giving him one of his pointed looks, the ones he gives when he knows he’s right.

“i should,” chan agrees, but doesn’t elaborate.

woojin sighs.

“you’re all hopeless,” he complains, and chan can’t hold back the grin from forming on his face. “we really are,” he agrees sheepishly.

“tell them,” woojin repeats, before standing up. he presses a kiss to the crown of chan’s head, a small gesture of affection he is not used to, but appreciates nonetheless.

 

\----

 

changbin and jisung make the walk to the coffee shop together towards evening a couple of days later, knowing chain’s supposed to close.

“hyung!” jisung calls excitedly, letting go of changbin’s hand to rush inside. “guess what?” he asks, bouncing up and down on his heels. chan pauses wiping the tables to look up at him, and changbin moves to stand next to jisung.

“what did i tell you?” chan retorts, and it’s directed specifically towards changbin, who grins stupidly. he feels like a stupid teenager in love. jisung looks back at him, confused.

“you talked to channie-hyung too?” jisung splutters, and changbin raises an eyebrow. “what do you mean _too?_?”

chan smiles at the both of them, and changbin squirms, wishing the fuzzy feeling in his chest would go away.

“i can’t believe we have our very own cupid,” jisung giggles, and changbin decides that he likes the way his eyes crinkle.

they sit at a table for once, chan bustling about and closing up earlier. _for them_ , he clarifies. the words make changbin's heart swell, and guilt trickles down his throat.

jisung leans forward, his hands covering changbin’s, who traces shapes onto skin. jisung relaxes, smiling. changbin doesn’t notice the way chan stares, eyes fixated on their joined hands. neither of them do.

 

\----

 

it’s getting harder and harder to sneak out, but changbin manages to make his way over to chan’s apartment over the weekend to see jisung. he’s working, along with woojin, but chan told him where they keep the spare key since they don’t have anywhere else to go.

jisung shows up a little bit later, clutching snacks in one hand and some flowers in the other. “for you!” he exclaims, handing him the flowers, which changbin happily accepts, blush tinting his cheeks.

jisung leans in to kiss his cheeks, and the gesture alone is more than enough to make his heart race and lips turn up into a smile.

they make themselves comfortable on the couch, jisung fiddling with the remote to turn on the television and changbin drowning them in blankets. jisung tucks his knees to his chest, leaning into changbin, who wishes the storm of butterflies in his stomach would calm down.

jisung presses a kiss to changbin’s shoulder, a habit formed once he figured out how much changbin likes it.

 

\----

 

chan comes home to changbin and jisung sleeping on the couch, and he feels the familiar tug in his heart at the sight. he pads over to the television, turning it off before facing them. it’s so domestic, the way jisung’s curled up next to changbin’s side.

woojin clears his throat from behind him, and chan feels the tips of his ears go red.

“like i said — just _tell_ them.”

chan doesn’t respond, just leans down to tug the blankets up higher over the two of them. he brushes changbin’s bangs out of his eyes gently, heart lurching at how much younger he looks when he’s sleeping, when the worry lines and scowls he wears daily soften.

jisung stirs a little, and chan notices the way his arms are wrapped around changbin’s waist. he sighs, standing back up to turn the lights off.

he doesn’t fall asleep for what feels like hours, but that isn’t anything new.

 

\----

 

changbin wakes up to the feeling of hair tickling his neck, and he panics for a split second, confused. he blinks rapidly, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes, and it’s only then that he recognizes jisung laying next to him. he sighs out of relief.

he hears someone clearing their throat, and notices chan lingering in the doorway, just like all those weeks ago, except smiles are easier for changbin now, and chan returns them just as easily.

changbin just barely manages to detach himself from jisung, following chan into the kitchen. he smells coffee, and shyly asks, “count me in for a cup?” chan snorts, explaining that he made it for changbin, and how he doesn’t think he can ever drink coffee again after constantly being around it.

changbin grins, and accepts the mug chan’s holding, making himself comfortable at the tiny table squeezed into the kitchen.

“can i, uh, tell you something?” chan questions, drumming his fingertips on the table nervously. changbin nods encouragingly, waiting. “it’s about you and jisung,” chan confesses, and changbin’s mind is reeling with possibilities, trying to figure out what chan could be talking about.

“i, um, sorta have a crush, but on both of you?” chan admits, but it comes out more of a question than anything. changbin’s mouth goes dry, and he racks his for a response, for _anything_.

he doesn’t have one.

“you don’t have to say anything. i know it’s weird and new and you must hate me, but i just had to get it off of my chest,” chan rambles, trying to meet changbin’s eyes.

“also, woojin wouldn’t leave me alone about it. he’s convinced you guys feel the same, but i’m not so sure,” chan continues quietly, fidgeting in his seat. “i think we should talk to jisung,” changbin finally suggests, eyes wide from chain's confession. chan nods in agreement.

“talk to me about what?” jisung asks from the doorway, yawning a little as he makes his way over to the table. changbin searches for his hand, linking their fingers as jisung sits down, smiling despite the nervousness seeped in chan’s features. "i was so confused when i woke up alone," jisung murmurs, and changbin sighs a little.

they sit in silence for a minute or so after that, changbin trying to smile encouragingly.

“i like you,” chan finally states, plain and simple. jisung tilts his head to the side, obviously not quite understanding what he means. “both of you,” he adds, eyes latched onto their hands. changbin feels guilty, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“wait,” jisung interrupts, eyebrows pinching together. “like as in a crush? on both of us?” he prods, leaning across the table and chan sucks in a breathe before nodding.

“ _oh_.” jisung slumps back in his seat, looking over to meet changbin’s eyes, who doesn’t know what to do.

“is it okay if i talk with changbin hyung?” jisung murmurs, and chan gets up a little too quickly, nodding. he leaves them alone, and jisung turns to look at him quizzically.

“you like him too, don’t you?” jisung asks, but his tone isn’t accusatory. changbin shrugs, ashamed to admit it and unsure of how he should respond. “because if you do, i just wanna say that i do too,” jisung continues, blushing. “and i was actually gonna tell you but i’ve never done this before. i didn’t wanna mess it up,” he confesses, and changbin lets go of jisung’s hands to press his fingers to his temples, taking deep breaths.

“so we both like him?”

jisung’s eyes light up, and he scoots closer to changbin.

“do you want to try it? are you okay with it? are you sure? we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ” jisung babbles, waving his hands around. changbin laughs a little, telling him to relax.

“i am _more_ than okay with doing this. you’re both the two most important people in my life, and having the both of you sounds nothing less than perfect. new and weird and confusing, but perfect,” changbin admits, fighting to keep the smile off of his face. jisung is absolutely giddy, smothering his cheeks in kisses and promises clumsily mumbled against skin.

chan pops his head into the doorway a couple of minutes later, smiling nervously when jisung gestures for him to come in.

his eyes light up when jisung says they both like him back, that they’re willing to do this. jisung’s already reaching over to lace his hand in chan’s, smiling affectionately.

changbin wishes affection came to him as easily as it does to jisung, but it doesn’t, so he tries for a smile and gets two bright ones back, gleaming like stars in the night sky.

 

\----

 

it’s awkward at first.

changbin sees jisung more often because they have school and class and lunch, which doesn’t leave a lot of time for chan, who’s always working. changbin feels guilty, wishing he’d just take some time off, take better care of himself.

it doesn’t even really matter because both of them have parents to worry about, jisung struggling to fill the hole in his heart his mother’s left, and changbin trying to pretend like his mother’s words and father’s silence isn’t slowly crushing him.

chan is there. he’s there for it all, for the tears and confused eyes and the endless stream of _i just want to be accepted_ and _why can’t they just leave me alone?_

chan is a constant in their lives, a shoulder to lean on.

he’s also much more. he’s playful and loves to tease jisung, and he showers the both of them with affection when they’re within the walls of his apartment, jisung giggling and changbin grumbling about how it never ends, but he’s holding back a smile at the same time. he listens to jisung’s spiels and lets changbin ramble about his drawings, and it makes them feel so much more _closer._

 

\----

 

“what did i tell you?” woojin sounds smug from the couch, not looking up from his book as chan closes the door behind changbin and jisung.

“did i ever tell you that you’re my favorite hyung and that i love you?” chan flutters his eyelashes exaggeratedly, smiling. woojin doesn’t look up, but chan can tell he’s fighting to keep a smile off of his face.

 

\----

 

woojin lets chan have the apartment for the weekend, telling him he’ll stay with a friend, eyes glinting. chan knows there’s something he’s not telling him, but he doesn’t press, just hugs him goodbye.

changbin and jisung show up on saturday, and chan’s so relieved to see them. communicating is hard, considering both of their personal lives, and chan worries a lot, but seeing them in person makes everything much more easier.

jisung crashes into his arms, already chattering on about how excited he is to see him. chan squeezes him tightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. jisung smiles shyly, letting go, and chan leans forward to kiss changbin’s cheek in greeting, who can’t stop blushing. “ _cute_ ,” chan murmurs.

jisung makes himself comfortable on the couch, already fiddling with the remote, and chan motions for changbin to follow him into the kitchen to help him with dinner.

“why do you have a mismatching tile?” changbin blurts out, and chan laughs, remembering when he came home and saw it. “that’s woojin’s story to tell,” he responds lightly, smiling and changbin bobs his head in understanding.

he stands by the counter with chan, asking if he needs any help. chan gives him some stuff to do, and they work in silence for a couple of minutes.

“are you okay with all of this?” chan finally questions, and notes the way changbin pauses his movements. “of course i am.” changbin sounds hurt, and chan rushes to explain.

“i just wanted to make sure,” chan responds softly, and changbin relaxes. “this is new to me, hyung. i like the both of you, i do. i’m just trying to figure it all out. promise.”

chan is reassured, and a little surprised when changbin drops what he’s doing to hug him, arms tight around his waist. chan leans down just a little, resting his chin above changbin’s head.

 _we’ll be okay,_ he thinks. we have to be.

 

\----

 

changbin wishes he was better at this, and he finds himself admitting it to chan when jisung’s fallen asleep between the two of them on the couch. “come here,” chan murmurs, tugging on his wrist, and changbin stands to squeeze himself between the armrest and chan.

changbin feels very vulnerable from his confession, but he meets chan’s eyes anyways. “it’s okay. jisung and i still care about you, emotionally constipated or not.” changbin’s lips curl up into a smile. “not constipated, just,” he pauses, searching for the right words. “not good at expressing myself and my emotions,” he finishes, and chan laughs a little, telling him it’s basically the same thing.

chan’s hand meets changbin’s, and he’s grateful for his touch. he rests his head on chan’s shoulder, and mumbles, “thank you.”

two simple words. that’s all he says, but chan smiles like he deciphers the meaning behind them, and changbin is at ease knowing that there’s someone who understands.

 

\----

 

acts of affection from changbin are like little gifts sprinkled throughout chan’s life.

changbin sticks with small hugs at first, but as time goes on, he reaches more and more for chan’s hand, who’s more than happy to oblige.

kisses on the cheek leave him giddy, but they, too, are rare.

jisung is the complete opposite, and chan thinks they are the sun and moon, a source of light meant for the sky and stars. chan isn’t completely sure of how he fits into it all, but he likes to think he’s the stars, the ones that are always there, day or night. a constant, one meant to guide them through it all.

**Author's Note:**

> idk why this fic did so well i re-read it recently n it was like.....okay at best but im really glad people enjoyed it! i always like hearing what u guys think n it encourages me to keep writing too :)


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